Page 48 of Horn of Plenty
He chuckled. “You heard about that.”
“You’re not alone. I used to despise casserole in any size, shape, or form. But between the organic cheese and farm-fresh vegetables, it’s hard not to go back for seconds or even thirds. Fifty percent of our emails come from people wanting the recipes to the dishes we share on social media,” she answered.
“That’s good to know, but it wasn’t my question,” he countered with a curious expression.
She schooled her features. “Cal and my father are the farming experts, but I’ll do my best to answer.”
“This might sound quite odd, but my wife wanted me to ask if you and Cal were an item. It’s quite a debate among her and her friends.”
She felt her cheeks heat.
“There’s the answer,” he said with a wry grin.
She waved him off. “No, it’s not like that. I’ve known Cal all my life. He was my brother’s best friend,” she blathered like an idiot.
“Your brother’s best friend or not, I have the feeling that he’d follow you anywhere,” the man replied, but instead of taking it as a compliment, her heart sank. She wasn’t so sure the governor was right.
An aide opened the door to the Suburban as the photographer snapped a few pictures of the governor getting into the vehicle.
“Thank you for visiting. It was an honor to have you in Elverna, sir,” she said, hoping her cheeks weren’t beet-red.
“It was my pleasure. Keep up the good work. You’re a talented young lady,” he replied as the aide closed the car door, and she released a shaky breath.
From the teenager in the park and now the governor—did everyone assume she and Cal were an item?
She waved as the pair of SUVs traveled down the gravel drive, and the postman pulled away from their mailbox.
“Would you mind getting the mail, Mabel?” her father called from the path between the main house and the cottage. She glanced over her shoulder, surprised to see him. Hadn’t he gone with Cal to help wrangle the cows?
“Sure thing, Dad,” she replied, heading down the drive. Bits of dirt kicked up by the Suburbans hung in the humid air before a whirl of wind swept up a plume of dust. She glanced up at the sky as dark clouds gathered in the distance.
A summer storm was brewing.
She continued on when Duke ran up and started trotting alongside her. “Coming for a walk, boy?” she said, patting his head as a million things ran through hers.
She’d come to love farm life again, but did that mean that she had to give up on her dream of traveling around the world? Was it time to permanently switch out her beloved high-end heels and couture clothing for boots and flannel shirts?
Mindlessly, she opened the mailbox and pulled out the pile of letters. “Jamie would have gotten a real kick out of the governor visiting Elverna because of the success of his idea,” she commented to Duke as she sorted through the pile of mail. She’d taken a few steps when a letter addressed to her with a familiar postmark caught her eye.
New York, New York.
She had to read it twice to believe it.
Who was writing to her from the city? She hadn’t shared her home address with anyone—not even Lily. She smiled at the thought of the teen, then recalled her last day in New York and the despondent look in the girl’s eye when she’d told her she was leaving.
Her heart racing, Mabel tore open the letter and removed a folded sheet of paper, then glanced down at Duke. “Do you know who it’s from?” she asked, knowing very well that she was talking to a dog who hadn’t the foggiest idea who would have sent her a letter from the Big Apple. But that didn’t stop her hands from shaking.
Slowly, she unfolded the piece of stationery, and her gaze dropped to the bottom of the page. She stared at the signature.
Chelsea Blaine.
The breath caught in her throat as she scanned the words on the page. She read and reread the letter at least a dozen times, still not sure that she could believe her eyes.
A lucrative opportunity to discuss with you.
I tried to contact you via email but got no reply. Then I remembered the post on your Bella Mae account said your real name and hometown, so I looked you up and decided to try snail mail.
Are you available to come to New York to discuss your involvement? Would this Friday work?
